"blondie" poems
she sat, back to passers by,
just out of the pouring rain,
wet hair, feet too, both socks soaked,
through and through.
Her short blonde-dyed locks were more like a pointy sponge drying in the wind.
rearranging to find dry things to wear,
blue gauze dress dripping water too,
naked to her underwear, without a care,
she put on her polka dot pajamas,
that were meant for nights you played twister, with her.
But she was so alone. On concrete steel stairs at a mall
central to the city where being a street person is a
measured percentage of the population,
what frustration,
and with distrust she stared anyone down,
talked in an angry voice, to everybody around. But there was no one,
who would stop, three over stuffed bags of belongings
while swearing and tossing her
head, longing to be someplace warm,
away from harm. That got her to this point in time.
Her feet were covered, and maybe warmer,
she packed and repacked all that she had,
and she was mad, like angry,
and on concrete stairs, and on user beware, and on the bottom of the arc
of her life so far,
so far away from the dreams she had as a little girl,
so far away from the hopes that she now only copes,
from one breath to the next breath and smokes a cigarette in between.
Alone, she knows better not to despair, no one would care if she did.
©DWE012014
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 1:09 AM UTC
Coffee
Heath
Bar
Crunch
Will sabotage those taste buds,
Like Dublin and its Mudslides.
So blast off with that,
Fossil Fuel,
And don’t let me
Catch you.
‘Cause I’ll keep you,
My Maple Blondie.
I’ll capture you,
And hold onto,
Those Cinnamon Buns.
You’re the Crème Brulee,
Of Chocolate Macadamia,
And the Cherry Garcia,
In my every breath.
You’re the Chunky Monkey,
To this Chubby Hubby;
The Dulce Delish,
for this Americone Dream.
Can’t you see I’ve just got,
A sweet tooth for you,
And your Phish Food?
Your Chocolate hair,
Key Lime Pie eyes,
Strawberry Cheesecake lips,
And your skin is a delight,
Much like Vanilla Caramel Fudge.
Did Ben and Jerry create you?
Please tell me they did!
So I can eat you,
With my cup of Boston Cream Pie,
And I’d eat you all up, Well,
Everything but the…
Half Baked, Karmel Sutra,
Which I’d lick,
Like a cone of Cake Batter,
And then dip into,
Like Cookies and Milk.
Imagine Whirled Peace,
On top of this Mudpie,
And then Split,
Like a Banana.
That’s the kind of Brownie Batter,
I’d stir with you,
And then add a scoop,
Or two,
Of Turtle Soup.
And you would yell,
PISTACHIO PISTACHIO!
Where for art thou pistachio?
And with a bowl of Peach Cobbler,
And a spoon of Vanilla,
I’d look at you,
wink,
and offer you a pint,
of my Mint Chocolate Chunk.
Feb 5, 2013
Feb 5, 2013 at 1:42 AM UTC
Blondie finds a shell
peeps out an eldritch pearl
begins a new vision
Sep 6, 2016
Sep 6, 2016 at 9:00 AM UTC
The monsters don't hide in the closet, or under the bed, or in your head all full of juice. They roost. It's not their fault, following through with some innate longing they're called to.
It's a simple, impish existence, these monsters, who might prefer to be doctors or lawyers or sound designers for Alice Cooper or Rob Zombie or Blondie; alas they burrow and nest inside my ***** laundry.
A wise person might have said, "Take care, kiddo, and guard your head against the evil that so easily nestles there." I reflect on this through the cloudy density of my beer an wonder, could he have been right? Might I fallen intrigued, ensnared, by the casual taunt of an apple's dare?
We climb the beanstalk for the giant only; the goose is second hand. The giant's defeat is the glory. It doesn't matter what the stakes contain, live or die, princess or mother or cow or land, as long as a marching band greets us at the end of the ride.
The monsters don't hide in the closet, or under the bed or in you head full of juice. They roost, and they can't help us themselves in a world full of books gathering dust on shelves overlooked where their hardcovers guard against stray shells unloosed.
Jul 20, 2014
Jul 20, 2014 at 12:58 AM UTC
The hawk circled the canyon once
Drifting on gentle wind currents
Natural silent
That ************ could be my spirit animal
A tooth in my pocket
I broke in a bar fight
Big Blondie broke a chair on my lips
As I lay there screaming through my fingers
Warm blood seeping through my skin
...maybe I do deserve it
Everything smelled like beer, **** and dirt
Maybe that's rock bottom
No, I hit rock bottom
When you folded me up
And slipped me between the pages of your book
Leaving me on the shelf to wither and die
I buried my tooth on the edge of that canyon
Where the hawk circled
Then I thought of you no more
Feb 15, 2012
Feb 15, 2012 at 1:01 AM UTC
My used to be second family sat behind us.
The walls of the courtroom beat me more than my heart could.
It was not my choice,
The order of protection was forced.
I was forced to tell the detectives what my parents wanted to hear.
All of this happened because I made a mistake.
I chose a blondie over a brown eyed beauty.
Now for a whole year my best friend is gone.
His family hates me.
Nothing will be the same.
Adams street will always be dull,
And when I walk down that street more moths are born in my stomach than the hope I told you too keep.
Now I hope.
I hope court didn't sever everything we had.
Straight up.
Oct 21, 2016
Oct 21, 2016 at 1:54 PM UTC
I love you ******* everything up.
I love your super bad anxiety.
i love your depression.
I love you not giving a ****
I love you being an awkward blondie.
I love you for being just blonde.
I love you for loving nevershoutnever!
I love you for your love of marijuana.
I love you for being there for me
I love you hoping that you'll love me
I love you for just being you,
and nothing will ever change that...
May 2, 2013
May 2, 2013 at 8:17 PM UTC
Today was so good
I made pancakes, no blueberries
We went for a walk
Took the long way this time
You picked flowers along the way
I enjoyed our talk
Did laundry and dishes
I made the bed
Turned on the radio
You danced with me
Blondie curls and pink dress swayed
I love you more then you know
The sunset as I started dinner
You prefer peanut butter and jelly
Soft innocent laughter fills the air
The cat fell off the couch, again
You and he are thick as thieves
He sleeps tangled in your hair
I heard the phone and knew
Our day together had ended
You say, "Tomorrow let's color"
Why can't they leave us alone
I can't breathe in their reality
Darkness finds a childless mother
Jan 24, 2012
Jan 24, 2012 at 3:53 AM UTC
One day a group of young girls were playing with a ball throwing it up the wall and thereafter cathing it.
Then a longhaired lively brunette dropped it out of her hands with a smirk on her face.
The girls and a couple of guys ran hastily after it.
*My Heart Is Like A Bouncing Ball
Small, Elastic And Only Good In Certain Envoirments.*
The first - let's call him Blondie, picked it up but didn't treat it with caution and it therefore tumbled out again.
Then Blue Eyes tried to make it stand still using clever tricks and persuasive words, even lips.
But now the ball wanted to keep on rolling, searching for new skies wondering how far it could get away from the only playground it had known.
On it's way it met Big Head, who tried to gain the ball many times.
But the ball didn't fall for flatter, and rolled faster than Big Head could run.
And after it had rolled around the earth, almost home, a fourth guy fell over it.
He looked as it with his deer like eyes, and picked it up.
He had been on his own adventure and had just returned back to his own playground.
He waited for the ball to go home, and return back at it's free will.
And to this days it's still his hand's that are closed around the little ball, protecting it.
Dec 11, 2016
Dec 11, 2016 at 4:14 PM UTC
Women comes in many shades.
And the Lord planned it that way.
Women deserves plenty of compliments.
Not the negatives that comes their way.
They fulfill a hunger that men seeks.
When everytime they open up to speak.
Like a sweetness with brown sugar inside.
That alone melts you inside.
Or like a coffee style drink in need of creme to seal the deal.
You'll find it all in a woman of love.
Women of shades call many lovely names.
Some they never even knew.
Or maybe a few.
They been called Honey Brown.
They been called Light Bright.
Even Firey Red simply for the color of their hair.
And of course Blondie.
Which will never fade.
Yes, it's true.
Your hair dictates many of your names.
The sweetest of a woman stands out to a man.
That scent of aroma just floating around in the air.
Only a real fool wouldn't recognizes her qualities.
That the love of a woman.
Every man need.
Nov 17, 2012
Nov 17, 2012 at 8:09 AM UTC
on nights like this it's
old man Sanders across the hall
struggling with his sterility
and raising his wife's ******* son in silence
to be a man who will one day
manipulate a woman's emotions
in a train station at 4 a.m.
it's too early to be this drunk
yet i am
and
he is too
i can hear him shouting at
himself, his wife, and his half breed redheaded son
at the dinner table,
over something like Blondie in the background
and something about baseball in the morning.
May 14, 2013
May 14, 2013 at 9:05 PM UTC
I'm at the end of the trail, a caboose burning midnight like a poet,
like a nobody
I'm behind Blondie and Blue Eyes and Whiteskinnygirl number one two three
so that I round each corner dead last spinning my charred wheels tough
aching to understand why every other car
will always be golden to you,
to why I'm unimportant
yet you refuse to unhinge these wrists.
From the mountains, from the sea,
from the gravel beneath our tracks, honey,
I can hear you,
groaning my name up my knees,
"Shayla,shayla,shayla,"
a Super C the way you pump steam earthward
as if to make love to the rail I'm making love to for you.
Jul 30, 2011
Jul 30, 2011 at 10:30 PM UTC
When my uncle Frankie died
I didn’t think much about death
or the short fact of living.
I thought about my cousin Siobhan.
Everybody did.
He left 3 children dying,
but Siobhan was already dead -
the part that harvested hope anyway.
But people tend to focus on what’s missing
probably because we're all obsessed with growing.
Anyways, I knew then that she’d try to fill that void
like a hoarder, collecting anything within reach.
But her father’s watch wasn’t a token of relief
it sent her body into epileptic shock,
clutching white-knuckled at his biological clock.
And his glasses? Well she still wears them
but if she misplaces them for a moment
she’s liable to panic into another dimension.
Yes, Frankie’s death defined a tragedy
but Siobhan’s living only defined a tragic heroine
and all anybody could do was study her face,
know when it wrinkled from living
listlessly expressing that void, the missing,
the agonizing in the glass of her eyes
that tells me she’ll never again hear her father call her,
Blondie, creep up behind, massage her tired shoulders
and tell her without words that he will always be there –
there with her.
Siobhan would count her losses like this
making grief tangible in memory –
like the loss of language her and Frankie shared.
Sometimes at night I think of Siobhan
at last thanksgiving watching her daddy wave back to her
on home movies never saying much but smiling wide,
wide enough to make you gulp and twitch
and feel the hairs of your arm rise.
I remembered thinking that not many daddy’s have kindness in their smile.
But I knew then that everybody was playing detective
secretly watching Siobhan, screening her face
for clues to a crime unsolved
talking to every other family member in the room.
I often wished I felt brave enough
to grab her hand and squeeze it to stone
and tell her very “undetective” like,
“If this isn’t love, I don’t know what is.”
Jan 31, 2012
Jan 31, 2012 at 12:27 PM UTC
People talk about the strength of love
How nothing can beat it, in stories love
Is how the hero wins the day, saves the
Girl. People talk about how love heals
Or how madly there in love in someone
There is strength in love, I know about it
My love isn’t with a loved one though
My love is with a an adorable four year old
Who loves teenage mutant ninja turtles (Donatello
To be precise) who when I went to her birthday
Party she didn’t say hi at first
But a simple moment of watching cartoons
Made the love bloom
At first I was none the wiser, the party went
On everyone left save a few, we heard “hey
She’ll go to bed if you cuddle and watch” so
Her mom left but quickly came out again
“She wants you” and quick as that a love
Began with a lovable little blondie sitting
In my lap passed out
Now when push comes to shove and I feel
Like I’m breaking, I think about that moment
I’m not giving up I tell myself, I push myself
Off and dust the dirt off
They saying nothing is stronger than love
And it’s true, but when you have
The strength of a little girl driving
You, you become down right
Invincible
Sep 4, 2015
Sep 4, 2015 at 10:53 AM UTC
I got a second chance with you
such pure felt love and joy
To live again your fathers youth
Through you my darling boy
Your blondie curls cascading down
Your big eyes piercing blue
Your little waddle when you run
Your daddy did that too
Your laugh is so infectious
Your smile, your toothy grin
Your little nose that wrinkles up
The dimple on your chin
The words you say too big for you
Yes, your daddy did that too
Although like him in many ways
Not the only reason why
I think your perfect, gorgeous, handsome
Little baby boy!
Nov 17, 2010
Nov 17, 2010 at 1:38 PM UTC
in a rather expensive restaurant
6 people are seated at a table next to us
drunk and bored
fat and old.
"hey blondie," the blue haired thrice divorce widow asks jen,
"how's that hamburger taste?"
blue hair pops an oyster from its grey shell as manny laughs
but his sagging eyelids can't see daylight.
I light a cheap cigar and blow smoke their way.
someone coughs and I smile.
they plan funeral arrangements.
discuss burial vs cremation.
manny wants to be cremated
while blue hair wants to be buried.
they argue.
and when a waitress comes to pick up 6 empty shells
left on the white china plate
I turn to them and smile again.
they are envious
because
we are young.
later: much, much later
in the crack in the ceiling of time
seated at a table
i pluck an oyster
and leave an empty shell.
Jan 3, 2017
Jan 3, 2017 at 3:56 PM UTC
soft blonde hair,
rosy pink lips.
calm family girl,
but what is this?
little blondie's exploring,
she gets home at 4 AM.
once an honor student,
now an average joe.
once an angel,
now a party animal.
little blondie's hooking up,
having fun.
little blondie's not little anymore,
she's grown up.
Aug 8, 2013
Aug 8, 2013 at 5:54 PM UTC
I didn't like her as soon as I met her.
She'd known you an hour, and said your name wrong.
But she was pretty and little, and blonde.
You smiled, and charmed, and I rolled my eyes.
For Christ sake.
While you were out for an hour or two,
I knocked on M's door with a bottle of Sprite
from the vending machine downstairs.
Let's toast.
I unscrewed the lid and she uncorked the bottle.
She didn't ask why, just nodded and agreed.
**** yes.*
Fizz, fizz. Glug, glug.
There's a mug in my hand, and I'm drinking it up.
Tastes like sweet soda, not at all like wine.
We're sitting in silence, when I start telling M
I don't mind, really I don't.
At least you're over him.
She pours, and I swallow,
the bubbles pop in my mouth.
I hear you come home, little blondie in tow.
Have a nice night?
I ask loudly, standing too close.
You're toeing your shoes off, and I realize we're alone
in your room.
Go for it!
The wine whispers, urging me on.
Can I help you? I'm trying to change.
I want to do something, but what?
I'm scared you'll smell the sugary alcohol on my breath,
and dismiss whatever I do as a buzzed regret.
But I wouldn't regret it, what I see in my head.
I would go to you. I'd kiss you and kiss you,
till the wine wears off, and my lips are red
and a little bit raw.
Jesus.
That's what I would do.
Apr 24, 2013
Apr 24, 2013 at 9:06 PM UTC
for a legendary 70s-80s Sydney nightclub
wearing those clothes
like we did
being there
back then
paying too much
for that shirt
those shoes
pointy & suede
buckled not laces
16 in nightclubs
being tall
an original sister
1959 sequins
sunglasses matching
there was no light
being afraid
of the men
metamorphosis
women used
those urinals
confusion reigned
in a young man
we danced
the music spoke
bartenders poured
all sorts of
concoctions
another track
began
& a floorshow
eyes wide open
miming & movements
others queued
we were hustled
inside
out come the
freaks & early on
we got it all
on studded sofas
on the dancefloor
the fresco was
roamin
we moved feet
to the rhythms
slaves
not knowing how
formative those days
were
never getting anything
but drinks
until later
legal with dollars
juiced up
better lights
victims resting
in seats people
occupied
when a visiting act
blew simpler minds
wallets
we thought that
record was good
then they played
B52s, Blondie, Numan
the floor caved in
from ska
pogo. bouncers
cleared the scene
original grace
as an ape
stomps
up a staircase
disappears into
lookalikes
then a spotlight
highlighted
the real thing
that was us
Jul 7, 2016
Jul 7, 2016 at 7:57 AM UTC
A lover and a fighter,
With a heart of tarnished gold.
You've been hurt and
Hardened to the ways of the world.
Like a tree in a storm,
You bend, but never break.
You always bounce back--
Stronger than ever,
And ready to try again.
Proud of your accomplishments--
And your mistakes--
You've struggled and learned,
Becoming the person I always knew you could be.
Dec 16, 2013
Dec 16, 2013 at 11:01 PM UTC
She was mad
when she found out
I have a heart of glass...
..It cut up her mouth
something awful.
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 3:39 PM UTC
I used to think about us and how I fell deeply for you,
then I figured it all out. I didn't fall in love, I just fell. Because deep down, I knew I wasn't worth it. I wasn't enough. I still don't deserve you and never will.
The thing is that I don't think anyone deserves those two blue oceans you have for eyes. Nobody deserves a soul like yours.
Every part of you needs its protection walls and guards, so no one would ever hurt or damage you. Maybe I'm just a desperate girl who found a fascinating masterpiece when she got lost. But then, she doesn't want anybody to found out what she discovered.
I wish you were not that worth loving, so it wouldn't hurt that much.
Because unfortunately after all this pain, I still do adore you blondie.
Aug 25, 2015
Aug 25, 2015 at 8:14 PM UTC